The pretty follies that themselves commit,
For, if they could, Cupid himself would blush
To see me thus transformed to a boy.

LORENZO.
Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer.

JESSICA.
What! must I hold a candle to my shames?
They in themselves, good sooth, are too-too light.
Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love,
And I should be obscur'd.

LORENZO.
So are you, sweet,
Even in the lovely garnish of a boy.
But come at once;
For the close night doth play the runaway,
And we are stay'd for at Bassanio's feast.

JESSICA.
I will make fast the doors, and gild myself
With some moe ducats, and be with you straight.

[Exit above.]

GRATIANO.
Now, by my hood, a Gentile, and no Jew.

LORENZO.